


Pranked

by Salmoneili



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arguing, Boredom, F/M, Haircuts, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prompt Fic, lokane - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29084853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmoneili/pseuds/Salmoneili
Summary: Belated Lokane 2020Jane & Loki - established relationshipJane is preparing a presentation and not paying any attention to Loki.He is bored, and annoyed, neither sit well with him. It's not a good idea to leave him like that too long as he is after all, the God of Mischief.
Relationships: Jane Foster/Loki
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19
Collections: Lokane Week Holiday Celebration 2020





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [grecianviolet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grecianviolet/gifts).



> Prompt - haircut, revenge prank, Jane finding Loki with short hair super attractive, Loki pranking her before a conference, Loki deciding not to change his hair, extra – bored, spite, arguing  
> \------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> For Grecianviolet <3  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
> #myfirstLokanefanfic and I'd be grateful for some feedback - thank you, sweet fandom, Salmoneili

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
Ch. 1

Loki was bored, he’d been on Midgard for two months and for most of that time Jane had been working on her upcoming presentation of the underlying forces of the Convergence, causes and effects, occurrences in history and blah, blah blah …

In a week, she was going to present to … hmm, his perfect brow creased for a moment, no, try as he might … he didn’t care enough to search the crevices of his vast brain for the answer, rather settling on ‘some extremely important people in the top scientific circles.’

Whoop-de-doo, he thought lacklusterly.

Jane had excitedly told him in great, crushing detail over dinner one night, her words had tumbled out as if being chased down by a slew of dark elves or a giant frost beast.

He was pleased she was so thrilled, and he loved that she was so well thought of, proud even, but the problem was, it took her attention, _all_ of her attention away from the most important thing in her life, namely, him.

He was jealous.

Completely unabashedly green with envy.

Not that he understood why green was considered ‘bad’.

It was his favorite color after all.

He’d told her, but she‘d snapped at him and told him to ‘stop being a baby and to grow up.’

‘A baby’ of all things! ‘ _Grow up?_ ’ To him, a being so _very_ much older than her.

The audacity.

He hadn’t taken it well, and he sulked and brooded, silently.

She should have known better than to put him on a leash, he thought darkly, there were certain indomitable consequences that she’d have to face.

It hadn't occurred to him that she was stressed, and finding the burden of the upcoming presentation exceedingly tough too.

He might have known had he really been paying attention at the restaurant, instead he’d feigned interest by leaving copy of himself at the table playing the actively listening, attentive, perfect boyfriend while he actually roamed the restaurant, creating havoc, well a little havoc.

He could have easily checked the doppleganger's memory, but no. He was just more concerned that his pranks went unnoticed by his beloved. So he didn’t get another tongue lashing or worse still, no access to her soft form and warm bed.

Anyway, for a deity as powerful as the God of Mischief, his pranks were exceedingly … lame, his thought with annoyance.

The wrong soup here, too much spice, not enough spice there, a trip of a waiter carrying a laden tray, a spill of red wine down a white Chanel suit, the change of a Rolex into a Swatch …

Tiresome pranks for children.

He felt like a magician at a 5-year-old’s party, reduced to pulling a bunny out of a hat when he wanted to make the rodent grow teeth and devour the entire audience in its diabolical rampage.

It didn’t sit well with him.

Another problem was now he'd begun to develop - and he actually seethed blood-red as he thought about it - a conscious.

He, the Trickster God, after a millennium of antics, much more heinous than he’d ever (well, mostly ever) unleashed on Midgard.

That was Jane’s fault too.

She’d made him find out the result of one of his small pranks, that of replacing a man's underwear with a high-end matching bra and panty set in scarlet silk edged in lacy red trim.

While he still was in them.

A classic.

Mmm, very sexy, he thought, he should've put them on Jane, instead.

That would’ve caused him significantly less bother in the long run _and_ been a lot more fun.

The man had spilt coffee on Loki's shoe, his designer Italian shoe, and it was less than he'd deserved for the terrible deed.

He smiled broadly, and then his jaw tightened at the thought of what Jane’s opinion had been, and her assurance that even small things had far-reaching consequences.

He begged to differ, and she’d told him she'd prove it. So he'd had to monitor the man and check.

Annoyingly, to his surprise, she’d been right.

He'd initially been unrepentant, but she’d been incandescent to find out that he'd tried to throw himself off the Brooklyn Bridge a week later, after his wife, who just so happened to be the love of his life, found them discarded in his car and accused him of having an affair.

What bad luck. How bloody typical, he thought angrily about the stupid weak-willed human.

She’d made him reverse time and undo the damage to their marriage, causing him considerable inconvenience as it seriously drained his powers for several days.

He’d had a nagging headache for several more.

And to add insult to injury, she hadn’t let him near her for a week.

A _solid_ week.

Outrageous.

Out of curiosity, he’d looked into some other of his tricks, none of which, irritatingly, had had any such dramatically _near_ _fatal_ repercussions, but they still hadn’t been, according to Jane’s phrase, ‘a bed of roses’ for the recipients.

He tried to woo her and gain her forgiveness with that self-same ‘bed of roses’ and that seemed only to enrage her further.

Sometimes, Milgardian idioms were completely beyond him.

The upshot of all this was, he thought more about the effects of his tricks. He made sure none of the waiters or chefs got fired and reigned himself in from making too much mischief.

But there were ramifications to that too.

Mainly, he felt trapped, he was ‘a God in a box’, a plaything, a laughing-stock (to who, he didn’t know), but in his own heart, he was. He wasn’t free to do as he wished.

There wasn’t even any reward for his good behavior, Jane was either too busy or too exhausted to comment on it or for any romance, let alone sex.

He thought she'd be happy that he could magic away her exhaustion and soothe her every ache with some very fun and highly distracting erotic play, making her forget the damnable presentation, if only for a few scant hours.

But that hadn't gone down well either, apparently being so distracted, which had brought a rare smile to his face, that it'd taken her half a day to remember where she'd been and she wasn't prepared for that to keep happening. She also forbade him to warp time to help her out.

What the hell was he doing here, if not to enjoy himself?

There were just too many rules. It was worst than being at Odin's damnable court.

Slowly, but surely his anger narrowed its focus and settled squarely on Jane.

Boredom, jealously, frustration and loneliness were not good bedfellows, and they twisted his love for her.

His plot was hatched one morning as she completed her toiletries, and got cross with her hair, off all things.

He’d watched, transfixed from their bed as she came in from the ensuite and talked to him? Herself? Or her hair? He wasn’t really sure, but she was … angry, beyond angry.

Hmm, see how you like it, he mused to himself.

Jane was never vain, but sometimes her hair would dry and fall just perfectly, according to her rantings, but only on one side. The other would stubbornly refuse to do as she bid, curling and kinking 'the wrong way' despite her re-wetting and attacking it violently with her brush and the infernal, deafening hot-air blowing ... he corrected himself, _hairdryer_.

He wondered why it got her so riled as when she was working, she just tied it up anyway.

He smiled, all teeth and his green eyes gleamed brightly, finally, gleefully full of the mischief for which he was famed.

He wedded his fingers behind his head and gazed up at the over-ornate light hanging above their bed, he’d start tomorrow.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jane rose early as normal, Loki, as was normal for him, was still sleeping soundly next to her.

She studied his handsome features, his pale complexion contrasted dramatically with the wild tangle of sable locks that spread out over his pillow.

She shielded the hair with her hand and tried to decide what he'd look like with it short. Hmmm, better, she thought. Maybe she'd suggest a haircut when he was in a more favorable mood.

Not that he ever was these days.

She felt a pang of guilt, she knew he was bored, and she knew he was an egotistically S.O.B. and that she was neglecting him, but, she told herself, chances like this just didn’t come along everyday and after the presentation, things would be _better_.

A little voice inside begged to differ, citing focus groups, symposiums, further research, on and on it would go.

She forced it to shut up.

Before all of that she would have a vacation, she told herself firmly.

Just the two of them, together, go somewhere nice, of his choosing, maybe another world, she thought hopefully.

She smiled at the thought of surprising him with the idea when he woke up.

That would cheer his depressingly dour self up.

She even caught him tidying one morning.

Him, tidying! Ha!

She had jokingly teased him, saying if any of his family could see him now. He’d snapped, actually snapped at her for the state of her study.

He’d snottily suggested that she cease her experiments into what kinds of mould grew in a domicile environment.

When she’d furrowed her brow in confusion, he pointed to the array of dirty mugs scattered about the room. She rolled her eyes at him and suggested that if it bothered him so much why he didn’t just magic them clean?

He'd looked at her pitifully, sighed and with a shake of his pretty head, stomped off.

He was very good at stomping.

No, he did not do well with boredom. That was one thing they both could agree on.

She deserved a vacation.

They _both_ deserved a vacation.

Then she would lavish her God with all the attention his jealous little demanding heart desired.

She was, however, forever grateful to him for providing her numerous copies of various Asgardian texts translated into English on the Convergence. Having a member of an alien royal family, who also was a skilled in the art of magic, and had a healthy dislike of following rules as a boyfriend did have some distinct advantages, she figured.

She went to the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth.

She’d showered yesterday and did so usually every other day. She didn’t like to waste water unnecessarily, and it wasn’t as if she’d done anything that worked up a sweat, more was the pity.

She picked up her hairbrush, turned her head to the side, tilting it and set about vigorously brushing it, allowing her eyes to close.

It relaxed her, before another day of pouring over said books and preparing for the presentation, knowing that her back and shoulders would be tense and aching even more after another solid 10 hours work.

Maybe she would finish early today. If he was good, she'd let him share her bubble bath and maybe he would agree to massage her. She smiled wickedly, that would definitely be something for her to look forward to.

After the third time of brushing, she stopped not because she'd meant to, but because her brush was stuck, caught in a knotty tangle, it pulled on her roots as she tried to move it.

She opened her eyes and they narrowed in confusion at the large clump of hair clogging her brush and hanging down from it.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror and screamed.

Dear God, her beautiful hair was falling out, en masse.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll aim to get the next, probalby final chapter out next week.
> 
> I'd love some feedback, please. This is my first Lokane and I'm excited!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this Grecianviolet - thank you for the prompt and for your love and support <3<3<3


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two - Will Jane discover Loki’s betrayal?  
> \-------------------------------------  
> Was I lying to myself that this would only be two chapters or did Loki put me under his spell to write more about him?  
> I strongly suspect the latter ...  
> \-------------------------------------  
> Warning: Angsty McAngst (we love it really)

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ch. 2

Jane stared at the brush and then gingerly ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it slightly.

She could feel the tension in all of her face as her eyebrows came down as more hair came away in her hand.

She panted in shock and stared at her reflection in the mirror, she could see a _bald_ patch high up on her head.

Oh God.

She suspected more would come out if she pulled.

She decided not to test anymore, much to the annoyance of the analytical, detached scientist in her, instead she was focused on _why_.

Stress.

It had to be.

Stress was known to cause such phenomenon like this, wasn’t it?

Temporarily.

Or so she hoped.

But what if it was alopecia? People lost _all_ their hair, didn’t they? And wasn’t that permanent?

No, no, stop panicking and jumping to conclusions. You need to research it _first._

OK, OK, think, so she was probably facing losing her right now.

 _Losing her hair!_ Her inner voice screamed.

Calm, calm, focus, Jane.

She forced her panic down, she was _scientist_ , she was cool, calm and collected.

Rational in the face of adversity.

Think Spock, 'That’s not logical, Jim.'

OK, just think.

One step and a time.

It wasn’t as though she actually had to go out until two days before the presentation, for the run-though with Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, which was, she counted, in three days' time.

Maybe Loki could do some glamor spell for that?

Probably.

OK, good.

Oh, wait, _Loki_ , how will he react to this?

Would he love bald Jane as equally as full-head-of-hair Jane?

Don’t be ridiculous, of course he would, _his_ natural state was _blue with_ _red eyes_ for goodness sake. She reasoned he was hardly in a position to judge.

But she was doing what she always did, getting ahead of herself, running before she could walk.

She steeled herself to return to the bedroom, there would be a smug ‘I told you so,’ rubbing it in that she’d been working far too hard.

He wasn’t wrong, but before she went to face him, how was the presentation, really?

She knew she had a tendency to over-prepare these things, but the stakes were so incredibly high.

They were going to be presenting to not only the cream of the scientific world, but also the upper echelons of various government agencies, and was it a cliche to say that the future of the world was at stake?

Probably, she decided.

She was presenting alone after Tony’s intro with one of his trusted colleagues, and then she’d segue into Bruce’s brief and then there was an independent study based on the data she’d got from Asgard, which had come to the same conclusions that they had. And finally, Tony’d sum it all up before, the delight of (cosmic) ‘Question time’.

It was going to be broadcast via some video link, with people joining from all over, recorded and then dissected.

_Pressure._

The Convergence, estimated by those in the know in Asgard, to be happening in just over five years’ time.

While there was the possibility of much to learn and even gain from the eight other worlds in the Yggdrasil, the mostly peaceful but sometimes fatally fractured nations of Earth, or Milgard, as the Asgardians called it, were still playing catch up and wrapping their heads around not only being alone in the universe, but by being regarded by some of the other inhabitants as the planetary equivalent of a tolerated but rather dense offspring of a beloved uncle.

Governments and people in the know were more concerned about protecting themselves from attack.

Which was pretty natural seeing as the first major encounter with aliens could’ve been a rather badly plotted sci-fi movie with an armored megalomaniac, and a cyborg army to boot, bent on taking over the world, starting with, of course, New York City in the good old US of A, not another country or capital city or anything.

Although, the banks were there, so maybe it had been a perfect place after all.

Then she remembered why it’ll been NYC, she’d been told it was for the energy source that had been running Stark’s new building.

She discounted a rather minor infraction with aliens in New Mexico with the same despotic lunatic, which SHIELD had hushed up.

That had been more of a family squabble, a sibling rivalry really.

She mused how _normal_ it all sounded to her several years on, especially as the tyrant in question was currently snoring softly in her bed, tamed, for the most part, by little old me, she smiled briefly.

That should have been worth a Noble Peace prize all on its own, she wondered if she'd ever really be accepted by her peers.

There she was, her work having been ridiculed and under-funded for decades, about to present on some occurrence that only happened every 5,000 years, according to learned subjects in the realm ( _realm!_ ) of her alien boyfriend.

Boyfriend-slash-Prince-slash-God, least she _ever_ be inclined to forget. Although, she seriously doubted the last nomenclature, not that she’d ever say it to Loki or the people (deities?) that might conceivably be her in-laws one day (madness!)

Anyway, back to the present and _her hair_ … it was some miracle that it hadn’t fallen out weeks ago or she hadn’t wasted away by her erratic eating and sleep patterns.

She wondered if Loki, Dancy and Eric had made some kind of pact behind her back to ensure she ate and slept. 

She realised that all her neck muscles were tense, with the effort of keeping her head still so her hair didn’t fall out, but if she concentrated, she could actually feel individual hairs being pulling, ripped and torn out of their follicles just by the weight of the hair.

Or maybe that was her overactive imagination.

She sighed, OK time to go and face the music.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Loki was still feigning sleep, as he’d done when Jane rose and went into the bathroom.

He’d cloaked himself only after he’d heard the toilet flush, there were some mysteries he didn’t need solving.

He hovered in the bathroom, just watching and trying to supress a chuckle, while he waited for his trick to play out.

It was amusing until he saw the stress in her, not just in her face, but how her body tensed. He felt her anxiety not simply spike, rather erupt like a volcano.

Then he felt simply _loathsome_.

He was in a quandary, his first reaction was to reverse the spell and the entire 15 minutes that she’d left their bed would vanish, re-set so she was still asleep alongside him.

It was tempting.

Maybe he could even go back further and try to persuade her sleepy self into a little pre-dawn bed play.

Very tempting

Then reality crashed rudely into his brief fantasy, his lover was … how did another odd Midgardian phrase go? Ahh, ‘one smart cookie,’ she _would_ know that he’d done _something_ as she was familiar enough with the signs of his magical exhaustion, even without her hawk-like observational skills. Time reversal was one of the more draining undertakings even for a relatively short period of time.

He returned and waited in bed, undecided as to the best course of action.

Maybe the … truth? She’d be angry, he knew but perhaps the squall would blow over quickly and like a summer storm, the aftermath would be bright and fresh.

‘Loki,’ her voice sounded shaky and his courage for honesty failed him, he’d rather face an onslaught of dark elves than her at that moment.

Even the consummate actor for his craft, he slowly, sleepily, turned to her and blinked his eyes open, ‘My love?’

‘Loki,’ he waited for her to compose herself, but his pretence of concern was not false. He could see she was struggling to hold herself together and maintain an even tone.

‘Loki, my hair’s falling out. Look.’ and she demonstrated it for him, pulling out some strands with both hands, ‘I think it’s stress of all … this.’ and she waved her hands in the air, her voice brittle and her face sullen. She wouldn't look at him.

He waited for a beat, and suddenly it came to him, maybe he could gain her _favor_. Be her understanding knight … or rather prince, he corrected himself, in shining armor.

Hmmm, interesting.

Jane still refused to meet his eyes and he could well read her thoughts, not that was one of his actual skills, solely he knew her so well. She thought he was going to _chide_ her, say ‘I told you so.’ the phrase that Darcy liked so much, that was adding to her stress.

It provided him with his path.

He sat up and opened his arms to her, ‘Come here, dearest. Let me see you, it can’t be that bad, surely?’

She went to him, her head pressed against his chest, which helped her avoid seeing his disappointment.

Revelling in the warmth of her arms around him. It occurred to him he couldn’t remember the last time she permitted him to just hold her. He’d begun to feel surplus to her requirements.

It required the lightest of touches, but he was adept, lies were part and parcel of causing mischief and mayhem.

‘Jane, would you allow me to cast a small glamor spell, hmm? Your hair will appear normal and you may attend your … presentation and after which you really _must_ rest, my love.’ His voice was silky soft.

He rushed the next part to show his earnestness, he knew falsehoods were always best shrouded in truth, ‘I _know_ this is of great importance to you, and your dedication is admiral. You wish to prove yourself to your naysayers, and I, more than most understand this. But …’ and he applied a gentle pressure to the small of her back, drawing her into him slightly and moved his other hand to cup her cheek. He lowered his voice slightly, ‘Are Stark or …’ he paused drawing a blank, ‘The … Hulk, toiling so? Becoming so worrisome that they are similarly afflicted, hmm?’

He used his silkiest tones and the skills he’d honed to perfection over a millennium.

Deflect, _he_ was with her, but were they? Cast the seeds of doubt so they may take root in fertile soil.

This, this set up, still gave him a deep thrill. It was perhaps innate to his nature.

He felt her back away so she could finally turn to look at him, her brow pinched and furrowed, mulling over his words.

He waited patiently, this was crucial, don’t push, let her decide to accept it and make it her own.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jane couldn’t hold his worried gaze for long, , she returned her eyes down his pale lithe torso and stopped at the bunched-up sheet that just revealed the soft strip of hair below his belly button, which grew coarser and darker the further down it traveled.

The impulse to draw the sheet down, mining the small seam and lose herself in the heady pleasure to be found nestled at the juncture of his thighs was nearly overwhelming.

Unconsciously, she nibbled at her bottom lip, refusing to look up at his face for fear of pressing hers to his lips, the whiteness of his skin contrasted temptingly with their redness.

Then she thought about what he’d said, and she bit down on it preventing the sharp sting of tears from spilling.

God it was so _unfair_ , there was absolutely _no way_ Tony or Bruce were agonising over this like she was.

 _But_ , _context_ , she reminded herself, Tony was a billionaire playboy who’d been sitting down with top brass type figures probably since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. It was just a normal day at the office for him.

And Bruce, well, before the incident and turning into some kind of modern-day Jekyll-and-Hyde character, he’d also presented to head honchos in his various ( _seven?_ ) fields and worked _a lot_ on being calm. Maybe she should’ve gone to him for lessons rather than doing her usual and over-working and getting more het up in the process.

She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she been holding and felt her shoulders slump. He hadn’t moved, aside from his rise of his chest and his steady, calming breaths.

She came to a decision and gritted her teeth, she needed to ask a favor, and she wondered what price he might extract.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will Jane have to pay?  
> Answers on a postcard, please (or comments :)


End file.
